


You can leave your mask on; I know you

by ninemoons42



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Deception, First Time, M/M, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-26
Updated: 2011-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-19 09:27:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/199368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninemoons42/pseuds/ninemoons42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>written in response to <a href="http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/17947.html?thread=39817499#t39817499">this prompt</a> at <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/inception_kink/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/inception_kink/"><b>inception_kink</b></a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You can leave your mask on; I know you

  
title: You can leave your mask on; I know you  
author: [](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**ninemoons42**](http://ninemoons42.dreamwidth.org/)  
pairing: Arthur/Eames  
warnings: Eames being a cold fish and maybe even kind of a rat; Arthur becoming unexpectedly cute. Also, they're in Manila, just because.  
disclaimer: I don't own the original story or the characters. Not making any profit, just playing in the sandbox.  
summary: written in response to [this prompt](http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/17947.html?thread=39817499#t39817499) at [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/inception_kink/profile)[**inception_kink**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/inception_kink/).

  
Eames is aware he's a stereotype, thank you very much, and he'd like to stay that way.

Dreams are a tricky business and he should know; he was right there when it started and he was among the first to escape the military programs, among the first to take the PASIV and vanish into the underworld.

And Eames has been consistent right from the start. He charms people, coerces them into giving up their secrets. He steals hearts as easily as he does ideas, with the wave of a hand or a perfectly timed smile.

Any emotion Eames shows to the teams, to the marks, and to the clients gets left behind in the crumpled ruins of the dreamscape.

He keeps his heart well-guarded, and he never tips his hand.

Even when Arthur comes along - and oh, is Arthur the stuff on which dreams are made. Competent, deadly, and extremely attractive. Flashes of insight, the astounding improvisation of the elevator kick.

Eames values him as a comrade and prefers to work with him, since it's nice to have someone who can try to follow his thought processes, someone who can protect his back, someone who can lie and cheat and steal almost as well as he does.

When the sexual attraction kicks in, about a year into their post-Cobb association, Eames lays out his plans as carefully as he lays out the forge for the job.

In the dreams, he appears as a woman in sharp grey suits. Glasses perched on his nose. Long red hair in a severe chignon.

Ariadne builds them a single Mobius loop of a level, an office floor gone wrong: they're to intercept their mark on the "top" side, and extract from him on the "bottom" side. Posing as the man's second-in-command, Eames teases out his retirement plans - and at the end, he gestures behind his back, and Arthur walks casually in and destroys the dream by shooting himself.

In reality, Eames comes in on the day of the job in a sharp charcoal Zegna. He leaves Arthur a note in his moleskine-type notebook, short and to the point: _Manila, two weeks. Come alone._

He's done this before, and he knows what he's doing: Dinner. Drinks. Twelve hours of bliss, of sweat and come and whatever desires he and his partner might have - and after that, it's out of his system. And Eames can go back to his usual masks.

He plays it cool even as he's picking up Arthur at the airport. Eames permits himself a smile; Arthur has made a concession to the tropical heat and humidity, in his linen shirt and his light-blue trousers.

Eames is indulging one of his own whims and is wearing a muscle shirt and torn-up jeans, and he smirks when a muscle in Arthur's cheek jumps, once, and is still.

Better than a tell, better than a totem.

The sidewalk is gritty under their shoes and the summer heat is punishing, and he watches Arthur open up like a flower, even as he extracts a pair of aviator shades from his pockets and puts it on.

They stand on the breakwater overlooking Manila Bay, and he watches Arthur catalogue the sights and sounds of a sunset. They eat with their hands, seafood and adobo and mounds of white rice. They drink beer and Eames laughs when Arthur sheepishly buys a packet of cigarettes from a passing girl, and he lights one for Arthur.

The light in his eyes, the way the night soaks into his skin.

They spend the ride up to Eames's hotel room kissing languidly, hands moving slowly up and down each other's arms.

Arthur is focused and intense, and Eames revels in his attention, even as they strip down to naked skin and lick the sweat and the smoke off each other. Arthur's fingers around Eames's cock; Eames licking Arthur open with complete concentration. Hands sliding over muscle and scar and tattoo.

Eames catches himself looking down at Arthur as they climax one after the other, catches a strange emotion in Arthur's eyes. He blinks, files it away for future reference.

He knows that there will be time enough in the world to create a forge of Arthur, if he ever needs it.

After, Arthur cleans himself and then Eames up with the sleeve of his shirt.

Eames closes his eyes, feels Arthur slide his arms around him - and then it takes all of his self-control to not react when Arthur laughs into the back of his neck, scatters tiny licks and kisses all over his shoulders. Is he - yes, Arthur is definitely rubbing his cheek into the skin over his spinal column.

Affection. Laughter. _Arthur._

Eames only has enough time for one more thought before he suddenly falls asleep, before his hands are coming up to capture Arthur's where they are draped over his chest.

"Does not compute. Does not compute.

"I'm _fucked_."  



End file.
